


Falls Through Without You

by MonocerosRex



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Ass-Kicking, BAMF Stiles, Companionable Snark, Detective Stiles Stilinski, Enemies to Friends, Fanart, M/M, Monster of the Week, Pre-Slash, Snark, Sort Of, i just wanted to write fun adventures and not have to think of a plot, i'm not going to apologise, is a tag i didn't know existed, seriously though stiles isn't capable of speaking without it, that's the extent of the crossover, this thing wrote itself, which in this case is the beast from taz amnesty arc 1, without my consent, you do not need any knowledge of taz to understand this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 04:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonocerosRex/pseuds/MonocerosRex
Summary: His arrival today put Derek on edge. He could be there to bitch and moan about lacrosse practice or whatever-the-fuck because he lived to piss Derek off, or he could be here because the world was ending.Sometimes Derek wondered why he was seriously still in this town.“Good morning, Dere-Bear, you’re a barrel of sunshine as usual.”Derek growled thickly at the nickname but it just made the kid smile wider. Derek viciously missed the days when Stiles was afraid of him.“What do you want.”“Can’t a guy come visit his favourite alpha werewolf every once in a while? Don’t be a stranger.”Derek tried to kill him with his eyes. It didn’t take.Luckily protracted silences weren’t Stiles’ strong point. “Okay, so, I wanted to ask you if there were anymore werewolves in town at the moment, and if there are why the hell you aren’t kicking them off your territory for attacking a bunch of humans. Unless it was Peter? Please tell me it wasn’t Peter, I thought his resurrection shook out most of the crazy.”So it was a world-ending type of visit then.





	Falls Through Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush, not because the song's particularly relevant to the story but because it’s been stuck in my head recently and I forgot I needed a title.

Derek sighed as the sound of a familiar Jeep filtered through the walls of the ruined house. It had been several weeks since the last supernatural crisis, and even then Derek hadn’t seen much of the younger man. Stiles had swept in at the eleventh hour and blown a bunch of dust at the hideous demon-creature the pack had been fighting—and losing to—for weeks prior, killing it instantly.

His arrival today put Derek on edge. He could be there to bitch and moan about lacrosse practice or whatever-the-fuck because he lived to piss Derek off, or he could be here because the world was ending.

Sometimes Derek wondered why he was seriously still in this town.

Stalking out onto the porch when the car drew up Derek crossed his arms and glowered, hoping to scare the boy off before he had a chance to ruin Derek’s day.

It didn’t work, of course. Stiles spilled out of his car and made his way towards the veranda grinning happily as if Derek had welcomed him with open arms.

“Good morning, Dere-Bear, you’re a barrel of sunshine as usual.”

Derek growled thickly at the nickname but it just made the kid smile wider. Derek viciously missed the days when Stiles was afraid of him.

“What do you want.”

“Can’t a guy come visit his favourite alpha werewolf every once in a while? Don’t be a stranger.”

Derek tried to kill him with his eyes. It didn’t take.

Luckily protracted silences weren’t Stiles’ strong point. “Okay, so, I wanted to ask you if there were anymore werewolves in town at the moment, and if there are why the hell you aren’t kicking them off your territory for attacking a bunch of humans. Unless it was Peter? Please tell me it wasn’t Peter, I thought his resurrection shook out most of the crazy.”

So it was a world-ending type of visit then. “There aren’t any new werewolves. Why?”

“Just a _bunch_ of animal attacks lately, dude. A sudden string of animal attacks in Beacon Hills, California? We’ve been down this road before, haven’t we?”

Derek frowned. “I haven’t heard anything about any attacks.”

“Yeah no, they’re keeping it pretty quiet down at the station because they think it might be same person that was behind the last lot, a serial killer resurfacing. I’m not entirely convinced they’re wrong, honestly, although they’re obviously not going to be able to do anything about it either way. Fucking Peter.” Stiles shook his head. “I keep tabs on my dad’s case files for exactly this reason. No wolves, huh?” He asked, changing tacks in that sudden way he had. “I guess I believe you, since none of them had clear wolf bites or anything. Several were all clawed up but it seems like from different animals, and one was bludgeoned and then impaled. Apparently one girl is being ruled a bear attack—I saw the photos, dude, and there wasn’t much left, it was _gruesome._ ” Stiles sounded equal parts disgusted and impressed by this.

“And how do you know they aren’t just actual animal attacks?” Derek expected the answer was ‘because the universe hates us and we’re never that lucky’.

“Uh, including the two non-fatal ones that’s five attacks in the last ten days. I’ve been researching animal attack statistics for California and the US”—of course—“and that is _unheard of_. Except when it isn’t. Here. On the hellmouth.”

“Beacon Hills is not a hellmouth,” Derek retorted automatically, immediately regretting bringing himself down to Stiles’ level when he saw the boy’s grin. “Okay, I see your point. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“You do that. Keep the pups out of the woods until we have more info. I’ll keep you updated if I figure anything out. Maybe this time I’ll be able to let the supernatural creatures take care of the supernatural problem without having to pull your asses out of the fire.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “We can hope,” he said sarcastically before stomping back into the house.  

“It’s very rude to just leave a conversation like that,” Stiles said cheerfully from the front lawn, not bothering to raise his voice though the door was now closed between them. “What, were you raised by wolves?”

***

The sound of his widow sliding open roused Stiles from his nap. He’d fallen asleep at his desk, head pillowed on his arms, surrounded by photos of claw marks and local animal morphology statistics.

“Mmwhassat?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes in the early morning light.

“Isaac was attacked last night,” growled the large blurry figure backlit against the window.

“He okay?” Stiles asked around a yawn.

“He’s fine. He said it was a mountain lion.”

Blinking until Derek’s grumpy face came into focus Stiles frowned. “Just a mountain lion?”

Derek scowled and nodded, obviously off put by this development. “Other predators like that usually leave werewolves alone. I still wouldn’t think much of it, but…”

“Yeah, it’s certainly in line with what’s been going on in town.” Stiles stood up with a groan, stretching and scratching his stomach as he headed for his phone next to the bed. “Did he see anything unusual about the lion?”

“If he had, don’t you think I’d have mentioned it?” Derek said testily.

Stiles levelled him an unimpressed look. “Um, no, I don’t think that, Mr. Never-Tells-Us-Anything-Until-The-Last-Second.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m glad you told me, but I don’t really know what I can do about it—oh! Where was it? You haven’t been letting them go into the woods, have you?” Derek just glowered. “Oh, come _on._ Are you an idiot? Do you want all your betas to get killed? It kind of seems like you want all your betas to get killed. Why is that, man? I mean, Isaac’s a bit of a Negative Nancy but bad fashion sense isn’t a good reason for negligent manslaughter.” Derek’s eye twitched and Stiles counted it a personal victory.

“Have there been any more attacks?”

“Aside from Isaac’s? Not yet, but it’s only been two days since I spoke to you.” Stiles gave Derek a sly look. “Are you sure you came by for business? ‘Cause it sounds to me like you just missed m—” Stiles cut himself off at the murderous growl bouncing off his bedroom walls and grinned.

“Just—call me if you find something,” Derek said like he’d rather a Tabasco enema, turning to drop back out the window without a sound.

Scrubbing his hands over his face Stiles glanced back at his desk and the fat pile of nothing he’d achieved there. He obviously knew there was a big supernatural piece of the puzzle missing but he’d hoped he’d get enough of the edges on his own that it wouldn’t matter. Unfortunately it was looking more and more like he was going to need outside help.

A thump from downstairs roused him from his musings. Wandering into the kitchen to get a pot of coffee started he waved to his father entering in through the front door.

“Morning, Daddio, how was work?” Stiles asked, feeling somehow tired and chipper at the same time—possibly due to the blend of stimulants he’d been living off of lately.

“Fine,” the Sheriff replied through a yawn, brushing past to dig through the fridge. “Long day.”

Stiles’ hands stilled halfway through pouring himself a coffee. ‘Long day’ was Sheriff Speak for ‘new development in a case’. “Oh?” Stiles asked, keeping his voice light as he forced himself to finish pouring.

“Yeah,” Noah sighed wearily, dragging a plate of chicken out of the fridge to heat up. “Nothing much, just… you know.” He rubbed his face, eyeing Stiles’ coffee longingly.

Stiles was glad his father wasn’t a werewolf, because he was sure his heart was racing right now. The weariness, the _just-you-know_ s? Classic symptoms of his father being stumped.

Stiles covered his excitement behind a gulp of coffee. This whole thing smelled like supernatural evidence.

“Okay, well, have a good sleep. I’ve got to get going, I have Harris first period.”

“Mhm. Good morning, son,” Noah mumbled blearily.

Rushing upstairs Stiles scrambled into his clothes, almost tripping over several times in his haste. His father was too out of it to notice but it was only seven thirty, meaning there was more than enough time to swing by the station before school.

What many people didn’t know was that the middle of the night was by far _not_ the best time to break into the station. There were just as many cops on duty at four am as there were at eight, and they were a lot more tired right before their shift change at nine. Plus you look a hell of a lot less suspicious wandering around a bit before opening than you do in the dead of night.

Careful to park in the empty library lot to hide his conspicuous car—well known to every deputy in the precinct—Stiles waltzed through the station’s back door with his stolen keycard, careful not to make any noise once he reached the bullpen. He had a number of excuses for being here so early without his father, but he’d rather not have to lie to a cop if he didn’t have to. Luckily, just as he’d suspected, there was only one guy in, Deputy Michaels, sitting with his chin in hand and eyes glazed over, staring sightlessly at a stain on the far wall. Creeping along the back wall was tough—Stiles wasn’t exactly known for his grace and stealth—but it was familiar. Thinking back on how he used to do this with Scott to fill his dad’s draws with shaving cream or plant a whoopee cushion on his chair made Stiles’ chest ache. Back then the fear of being caught used to make his breath short, heart thundering as he crept along the halls. These days the fear of being reprimanded was laughable compared with all the times he’d been sneaking around to preserve his own life and the lives of his friends.

Making it into the office with no troubles Stiles quickly stood, taking photos of his dad’s evidence wall and any files he hadn’t already stolen copies of, unlocking the window from inside and sneaking back out within a few minutes. It wasn’t quite as graceful as Derek’s voluntary defenestrations but if he winded himself a little falling out—well, no one was around to see.

***

**dude, what do you know about black goop turning animals evil?**

Derek frowned down at his phone, confused and maybe a little impressed that Stiles had somehow figured something out in the hour between Derek leaving and getting to school.

_Nothing_

_Why_  

**bc that’s what we’re dealing with**

_?_

**eloquent**

Derek rolled his eyes.

**1 of the survivors from before described a coyote with unusual markings ie a black muzzle which i didn’t think anything of**

**but then last night someone was attacked by a bobcat with black goo dripping out of its nose + mouth**

**sound familiar?**

_No_

_But it’s something_

**yeah**

**guess i’ll ask deaton after school**

_Tell me if he says anything useful_

**bro the day deaton decides to be useful i’ll hire a fucking skywriter**

Derek snorted before he could catch himself, glad he wouldn’t be the one dealing with the close-mouthed veterinarian today.

Working out and taking a sorely-needed nap used up the rest of Derek’s afternoon, and before he knew it it was six pm. Deciding it was as good a time as any for an update he headed over to the Stilinskis house, feeling a little less tense about the mysterious creature threatening his pack as he caught sight of a familiar window lit up a cosy yellow.

Dragging himself through was second nature to him now, although the satisfaction of making Stiles jump was wearing off as the boy got used to him. By now he barely bothered to glance up from his homework.

Today Stiles was leaning close to his laptop, nose almost touching the screen, not looking away from the photo of a police file as he launched into an update without any preamble. “It says here it was dark—almost all of the attacks have been at night, so it might explain why many of them didn’t notice the goo, but you’d think Isaac—I’m thinking maybe it takes a while for it to build up? Like, a freshly infected creature doesn’t look much different, but a month old one is more puddle than bear?”

Derek shrugged uncomfortably, not happy to be without answers. “What did Deaton say?”

“A whole lot of cryptic bullshit that basically boiled down to ‘it rings a bell, I’ll look into it’.” Stiles finally looked away from the screen to meet Derek’s eyes. “I tried to get him to just give me whatever books he was going to look in and let me do it, but he didn’t go for it. Bastard.”

Derek nodded and sighed. He was tired—it was always something in this town. But a part of his brain couldn’t help but notice how his shoulders felt a little looser, standing in Stiles’ bedroom and breathing in the familiar scent of books and laundry detergent and contentment.

He must have still looked like shit, though, because Stiles studied him for a moment before sucking in a breath to speak.

“Do you want some spaghetti dude? I was gonna cook it anyway and I kind of prefer all the werewolves in my life to be at peak Stiles-saving capacity at all times. And no offence, but when was the last time you had a hot meal?”

Summoning up a glare to cover his wrong-footedness Derek immediately snapped his refusal, suddenly desperate to get out of there, back into the dark where he could pretend the offer didn’t wrap warmly around his bones.

*** 

“Okay, Dr. Deaton, I’ll tell them. Thanks.” Stiles quickly hung up while hopping into his jeans, glancing at the clock and wincing. It was only one thirty but god only knew what time he’d be back. Sometimes he really wished the big bad would wait for the weekend. At least his father was wiped out these days, and he didn’t have to be quiet.

Stiles had made the drive through the preserve countless times by now, but he could never quite shake the shiver it gave him, knowing exactly what kinds of horrors lurked out there. Swallowing against the feeling of being watched Stiles stepped on the gas, making his way to the Hale house as fast as legally possible.

As usual Derek was already out on the ruined porch by the time he arrived, and as usual he looked like he was trying to set Stiles on fire with his mind. Stumbling out of his Jeep Stiles didn’t bother to get closer before he began to speak. “So Deaton found something! Something about another dimension? And goo. And animals and—look, the point is you can’t be mad at me for all the dog jokes I make anymore because werewolves! Apparently animals!” By the end of this spiel Stiles was standing directly in front of Derek, panting a little from—stress, probably. Honestly the way things were going he was gonna be dead of a heart attack before he turned eighteen.

Derek made eyebrows at him. “It can… infect werewolves?”

“Apparently!” Stiles flailed dramatically. “And that would be _very_ bad because god knows you guys do enough damage when you still have personal control of all your limbs.”

If Stiles didn’t know better he’d think Derek was about to make an _expression._ There was definitely something expression-like around the eyes as Derek turned to call for Isaac to _wake up and get out here._

“...Stiles?” Isaac mumbled, rubbing his eye.

“Yo, Curly. Did you happen to notice anything black and/or gooey about that mountain lion the other day?”

Isaac squinted at him like he couldn’t understand how he was a real person. “What?”

“Black goo. Was there any. Keep up.”

Isaac glanced at Derek who just shrugged and nodded. Apparently this meant something to Isaac because after the signal from his alpha he frowned and really thought about it. “I think… I actually I sort of thought its nose was a bit bloody? Crusty? But it was dark, so it could have been… ‘black goo’, I guess. I didn’t really smell any blood.”

Stiles nodded thoughtfully, carefully slotting this piece of evidence into the murder wall in his brain. He was so distracted pondering, in fact, that he barely noticed the other two walking off the porch in the direction of the forest.

“Wha—where—are you _crazy,_ Derek! I come out here to tell you that the thing in the woods is even more dangerous than we thought and your solution is to _go into the woods?_ How are any of you still _alive?_ ”

“You’re welcome to go home any time, Stiles,” Derek offered sweetly.

“And let you werewolves get yourselves killed? I don’t think so. What are you doing anyway? I can’t think of anything this could possibly achieve—except maybe suicide. You know, both Isaac and I have school tomorrow.”

Derek sighed explosively. “We’re just going around the perimeter, Stiles. It’ll take an hour, tops, and then you can get back to your beauty sleep.”

“Not that I need it,” Stiles quipped, but laid off. He suspected this was Derek bending to his protective instincts towards his pack and god knows that was something Stiles wanted to encourage.

The trudge through the woods was boring and creepy, but Stiles kept the darkness at bay with his phone flashlight and a running commentary of his thoughts on parallel timelines in comic books. Isaac seemed too sleepy to care about his incessant rambling, but Derek only told him to shut up once every five minutes, which Stiles took to mean he liked it.  

Around forty minutes into their sweep of the property Derek’s head snapped up and to the left and Stiles choked on a joke about pointer dogs. Careful to watch his feet Stiles stumbled after the two wolves as they shot off in the direction of—whatever it was. He was sure he still sounded like an enraged elephant crashing through the underbrush, but at least he didn’t trip.

Pretty quickly Stiles caught sight of something up ahead. It appeared to be a bonfire—he couldn’t see it yet, but the warm glow was bright and unmistakable against the night sky. By why would anyone be having a bonfire on private property on a weeknight?

Cresting the little rise Stiles finally got a good look, stumbling to a stop near the edge of a clearing. There was a bonfire alright, a huge one, the flames barely missing setting the surrounding trees on fire. Huddled next to it was a stout woman in ragged hunting gear, dirty and trembling as she clutched a shotgun and stared into the forest in his direction. Stiles caught the flashes of the others’ eyes behind her but didn’t dare move. Stiles was sure she had heard him but knew she couldn’t see far past the glow of the campfire.

“H-hello?” She called in a thick accent, voice trembling. “Is—is someone there?” Stiles could just imagine Derek’s annoyed eye roll at being caught.

Not sure how Derek wanted to play this Stiles stayed quiet, watching from within the treeline as the woman grew more frantic the longer her calls went unanswered.

“I know I heard you! C’m out! Show me you’re not—not—ohh Jesus!” And then the gun was up and Stiles was diving out of the way of the buckshot shredding the trees. A burn in his bicep told him he hadn’t dodged it all, but he had bigger issues at the moment.

“Whoa! Okay, okay, don’t shoot me!” He called, dragging himself up and stepping into the firelight.

Gaping in horror the woman lowered her gun—although her grip on it didn’t loosen any, Stiles noted. “Oh shit! Oh shit oh shit oh shit, I could’a killed you! Why didn’t you answer?!” She cried.

“Uh, I know this is private property, I assumed you lived here and I didn’t want to get into trouble,” Stiles said guiltily, masking his pain as best he could.

“Oh, no, I’m—I ain’t from ‘round here.” She seemed pretty focused on him but couldn’t keep her eyes off the forest.

Stiles regarded her through narrowed eyes for a moment before glancing back up at where Derek and Isaac were lurking and shaking his head slightly.

“Uh, so, why did you shoot at me?” He asked, clamping a hand down on where the lead had grazed him with a wince.

“God, I’m so sorry, I thought you was the creature!” Despite the pain Stiles had to bite back a smile; that was promising.

“Creature? Is that what the fire is for?”

“Yeah. I-I know it’s against the rules but I needed somethin’ to keep it away from me!” The woman was starting to get pretty agitated so Stiles took a chance and crouched down next to her.

“Hey, it’s okay, that fire is huge, I’m sure it’ll be effective. Don’t know of many creatures around here who aren’t afraid of fire.” _Wasn’t that the truth._ The woman nodded a little desperately but seem to be calming down somewhat. She finally took her eyes off the dark and looked at Stiles. Risking a gentle hand on her shoulder and trying to look calm he asked “So, what kind of creature was it?”

“I—I don’t—I mean, it was a bear, I guess, but I’ve seen bears and this weren’t like anythin’ I _ever_ seen before.” The woman swallowed. “It—it was like a—fucking _multi-bear_ , y’know, like in that cartoon? I don’t know, man, I’m not crazy, I know you don’t believe me, but _—_ ”

“Hey, hey, no, I believe you,” Stiles soothed. Leaning forward to catch her eyes Stiles said seriously, “I believe you. I’ve seen shit in these woods, nothing you say will shock me. But I can help.” Stiles could think of no earthly reason why she would believe an unarmed seventeen-year-old could protect her but she seemed to be buying it. “Did it just attack you? Why are you out here anyways?” He asked calmly, trying to channel his father.

“I was campin’ with my buddy Pete out west of here, huntin’ season, you know. And then this—thing came out of the woods and—and _attacked_ him—and I _ran_ until could set this up!”

“Okay—what was your name?”

“Uh, i-it’s Pigeon.”

“Okay Pigeon, could you describe to me _exactly_ what you saw?” Stiles could tell his cop-voice was getting a little strained as the throbbing in his arm grew hotter, but he bit it back and tried to look professional.

“U-um, like—a big, lumpy Mack truck of a bear, only—with extra parts. It was fresh off a kill, too, I was s-so scared—”

“Of course you were, that sounds terrifying.” Stiles gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Now—how did you know it was fresh off a kill? Did it have blood around its mouth?”

“Around its mouth, _dripping out_ of its mouth.” Pigeon nodded.

“And this happened at night?”

“Just three hours ago!”

“Did its eyes glow? Or anything crazy like that? You can tell me, I promise I’ll believe you.” He continued, but she was shaking her head before the question was out of his mouth.

“Okay Pigeon, how’s about I get you a police escort out of here, huh? A bunch of guys with guns ought to be enough protection to get you to the road, wouldn’t you say? And then they can start looking for your friend.”

She looked terrified at the thought of leaving the fire but at the mention of Pete her face crumpled and she nodded, a couple tears streaking down her cheeks.

Stiles had the number for the Sheriff’s station on speed dial, and he was relieved to hear it was one of the newer deputies who answered, negating the need for Stiles to put on a voice.

“Hi there, I’m calling with a tip for the Sheriff? There’s a woman on the Hale property who’s been chased by a bear and needs protection getting to her vehicle, as well as a man missing around…?”

He trailed off and Pigeon quickly supplied “Dead Horse Gap.”

“Around Dead Horse Gap. He’s been attacked by the bear and we don’t know his condition.”

_“Okay, sir, we’ll check it out. Would you like to identify yourself?”_

“No thanks. Goodnight, Officer.”

Smiling at Pigeon and ruffling the older woman’s hair—holy god, he really _was_ channelling his father—Stiles stood with a grunt as his arm moved uncomfortably.

“W-where’re you goin’?”

“You’ll be okay Pigeon, I’ll still be out there in the dark, I just can’t be here when the cops arrive.”

“But what if it gets you?!”

He winked at her. _Oh, there I am._ “I’ll be fine. I’m friends with the creatures in these woods.” And he turned and walked back into the dark.

He made it several paces without his flashlight before a hand came out of nowhere and steadied him. It would have been frightening if he hadn’t been expecting it.

“Not your friend,” Derek whispered, hand skimming down from his shoulder to his bicep where the shot had grazed him to start taking his pain.

“Nngh, this feels pretty friendly, my man,” Stiles whispered back, eyes feeling a bit droopy as the late hour and rush of endorphins began to take effect.

“Oh yeah?” Derek asked, and Stiles must have been sleepier than he thought because that had sounded downright _playful._ “How about now?” He asked, and suddenly Stiles was upside down, tossed over Derek’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes as the werewolf began to dash through the trees an an inhuman speed. Glad his arm was now pleasantly numb Stiles closed his eyes and held on for the ride. 

***

“Stilins—uh, Stiles?” Faye Collins asked from beside his desk the next day. Raising his head from where he’d been napping on his arms Stiles blinked blearily at her.

“Faye?” He yawned. “What’s up?”

“Um…” She glanced around and shifted uncomfortably. “You— Do you—” She broke off looking nervous and frustrated. Stiles straightened. He knew what this was—and it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

“You can tell me, Faye,” he said seriously. “I will believe you.”

Her eyes shot to his. She swallowed. “You—is there such thing as—as _zombies_?” She whispered.

 _Shit._ “What have you seen?”

Her lip trembled. “Jacob, he—he died.” Her voice cracked. “Last week. I was there when they— _buried_ him, I—”

“Take your time,” Stiles said, forcing his voice to be calm as tears welled in her eyes.

She blew out an unsteady breath and nodded. “He, uh, he was definitely—but,” she looked earnestly into Stiles eyes. “I _saw_ him last night. Alive.”

“Where?”

“My house—in the backyard. I saw him from the window.”

“You described him as a ‘zombie’.”

Faye nodded, her blonde curls bobbing. “It— _he_ —wasn’t, like, a ghost. I could see the bushes moving—and he had a _limp,_ from the accident, and—and he—there was blood dripping out of—” She choked and broke off, pressing her fist against her mouth and smearing her lip gloss.    

It clicked. “Jacob was your pet.”

She nodded. “My dog,” she said thickly. Well then.

“Did he try to get in?”

“He scratched on the back door, but—I was too afraid to let him in.”  

“No, that’s good. Okay, I actually know what this is, and you have to listen to me.” He held her eyes until she nodded. “Don’t go near him. I know you miss Jacob—” Christ, that wasn’t a Twilight thing, was it? “—but he’s not home anymore. If you see it again, run. You understand?”

“He’s...” She sniffed. “He’s definitely gone?”

Stiles sighed sympathetically. “He’s dead, Faye. That thing isn’t Jacob, and it’s dangerous.”

“Okay,” she breathed, dabbing at her smudged mascara. “I understand, I’ll—I’ll stay away from him. Thanks, Stiles.”

She made her way over to her seat just as the bell rang. Stiles didn’t learn anything that period.

***

_‘...completely unheard of, Linda.’_

_‘I live in California, should I be worried?’_

_‘So far the attacks seem to be localised to Beacon Hills, but if this is some kind of disease that affects the brain—such as rabies—there’s no telling how far and quickly it will spread.’_

_‘Okay, well, thank you for your time…’_

“Dad, me and Scott get the TV tonight, you promised.”

“Why did I promise that again?” The Sheriff grouched good-naturedly as the two boys thunked down on either side of him.

“Scott passed his Chem test! That means video games for us and no complaints from you.”

“If you say so,” he said amusedly. “I have work to do anyway.”

“The animal attacks? You still think it was the same guy?”

“I still think it’s none of your business.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “But no. We’re beginning to suspect it’s some kind of virus that causes aggression. Soon we’ll be swarmed with CDC and Animal Control.” The Sheriff made a face.

“It’s not contagious to humans, is it?” Asked Scott.

“Doesn’t look that way. Anyway, I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Okay, thanks Dad.”

The boys shared a glance as the Sheriff retired.

“More government agents getting involved. That’s going to suck.”

Stiles sighed. “I don’t want to think about real zombies right now, Scotty, let’s just kill some fictional ones, okay?”

Despite the unspoken Bro Code Scott still checked his phone whenever it pinged, insisting on describing exactly what Allison had said each time. So when Stiles’ phone rang he paused the game with relish, sticking his tongue out at Scott as he picked up with checking who it was.

“Yo.”

“Stiles!” Isaac panted in panic. “They took Derek!”

“What? Who took Derek?”

“Hunters! I don’t know! They jumped us in the house and shot him full of arrows, and he just _collapsed—_ I was hiding, he told me to hide, I should have fought them—” Isaac’s voice trembled like he might cry.

“Isaac, calm down. If you’d done that you’d have been taken too and couldn’t have called for help, right? You obeyed your alpha and now you’re saving his life.” Isaac made a wounded sound of relief and fear. “Where are the others?”

“At home I guess, I haven’t told them yet.”

Stiles didn’t waste time asking why Isaac had called him first. “Okay, you ring Erica, Scott’s ringing Boyd right now.”

“I am? Oh, okay, yeah, ringing now.”

“Can you track them at all?”

“I’m trying—the highway just smells like rubber, I can’t tell—”

“That’s fine. What did they look like? Did you notice anything distinctive about them?”

“No, they were just wearing black, and they had hoods—they smelled—they smelled like chemicals, like Lysol or something. I thought maybe it was to cover their natural scents?”

“Cars? All men? Did they say anything?”

“No, they didn’t say anything. Two women, one man, and—they were driving a black SUV.”

Typical hunters. “Okay, you and Erica search the woods, and _stay together,_ alright? If you find something, ring us, don’t go in alone and make everything worse, okay? Do you promise?”

Isaac swallowed audibly. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Promise.”

“Scott and Boyd will check the warehouse, and I’ll swing by the Argents. If he doesn’t show up in an hour, call the cops.”

“What? Stiles, we can’t—”

“Oh yes we can. You saw your friend get kidnapped by a group of armed adults. This isn’t some giant monster; assholes with guns are exactly what they’re trained for. Alright?”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll ring Erica. Thank you, Stiles.”

“You—whatever, okay. Stay in touch.”

Stiles hung up at the same moment as Scott.

“Your dad’s asleep, I can hear his breathing.”

“Let’s hope he stays that way. You can run to the warehouse, right?”

“Yeah. Be careful though, Stiles.”

“I’m just gonna talk. Trust me, I have no intention of getting shot at today.”

***

The Argents lived on the other side of town, but Stiles knew his midnight adventure would get back to his father if any cop saw him. Cursing his distinctive Jeep Stiles took the backroads through the empty office district, edging the speed limit to make up for the long route.  

At some point he made a wrong turn, swearing and throwing the car into reverse. As he found himself facing the darkened office tower opposite he noticed a glimmer of yellow. Caution tape was stretched over the main doors, the black text just visible from the street.

_FUMIGATION IN PROGRESS._

Stiles slammed on the brakes. After a moment of indecision—was he wasting precious time or investigating a lead?—he pulled the handbrake and jumped out. Jogging around the building with his phone flashlight Stiles came across the covered parking lot, the roller door jimmied up. Swallowing Stiles crept inside, listening for any movement.

There was none. But there, parked over three spaces next to the service elevator, was a black SUV.

“Shit.”

Unlocking the door to the fire stairs using his library card took Stiles less than a minute. Creeping up the stairs to the first level Stiles swung open the door and strained his ears. He couldn’t hear anything, despite the deadly still air.

As quietly as he could Stiles checked the next few levels. On Level Three he heard the faint sound of voices, possibly coming from above. Creeping up the stairs to the next fire door Stiles propped it open like he had the last three. He closed his eyes to listen over his pounding heartbeat, when suddenly a voice from below called “If he’s not talking just kill him! With the alpha dead the others will go down easy.” Jumping at the loud sound—she must have been walking right past the stairs—Stiles’ grip on his phone faltered. Gasping and trying to grab it he knocked it further away, causing it to miss the handrail completely and fall down four stories as Stiles watched in horror. The sound of it shattering on the concrete was echoed by the sudden pounding of footsteps.

Ducking onto the fourth floor Stiles listened to them thunder down the stairs and into the garage. _“Did you open this?”_ He heard one of them demand. “ _Spread out, surround the building. If his pack’s here I wanna know.”_

“Shit,” Stiles whispered, allowing himself one moment of paralysis before he was sprinting down the stairs to the third floor.

“Derek!” He whisper shouted as he ran through the office hallways. “Where are you?”

A broken cough brought him skidding to a stop in an empty room.

Derek was spread out on the floor next to a car battery, his missing shirt revealing smears of blood from already-healed wounds.

“Shit. Shit Derek. Can you move?”

“I’m fucking paralysed,” Derek growled, though Stiles thought the anger was mostly directed at the situation. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass, idiot.”

“Getting yourself killed. Where is the pack?”

“Looking for you. I’m you only option right now, jackass, so shut up and help me.” Stiles crouched next to Derek and wrapped his arms around his chest.

“Help you _how?_ I can’t _move!_ ”

“Use your superpowers and keep an ear out! And stop bitching at me or you won’t hear a thing.” Derek glared red eyed at him but did indeed shut up. With great effort Stiles heaved Derek onto his shoulders. He’d been taught how to safely lift someone heavier than himself by his dad, who had frequently let him practice whenever he had nightmares about having to save him from a burning building.

Which was not to say that it was easy. Derek was fucking _heavy,_ and getting him into the fireman hold came with intermittent commentary about how it was impossible and he should just run. Eventually he found himself on his feet, arm hooked through Derek’s leg and his wrist caught in the same hand.

“Suck it, I told you I could.” Derek’s growl rumbled against his back. “Fuck. It wouldn’t kill you to work out a little _less,_ you know,” Stiles grunted as he took an unsteady step.

“It’s not from _lifting,”_ Derek said disparagingly. “I’m an _alpha_ _werewolf_.”

“A useless alpha werewolf right now, thanks. Where are the hunters?”

“Still on the perimeter. Go down the stairs.”

“Um, no thanks. I’m taking the elevator.”

After he got the hang of his new centre of gravity Stiles managed to stumble to the elevator surprisingly quickly. He punched in the floor number and braced himself against the wall, pretty sure Derek’s silence meant he was impressed. Tiptoeing through the parking lot trying to keep his panting quiet was terrifying, but Derek kept him updated as to the hunters’ positions.

“My car’s straight across from here,” Stiles whispered once they’d made it to the entrance.

“Wait.” Derek’s low voice hummed through Stiles’ chest. “ _Go._ ”

Running with a huge musclebound werewolf on your back was a singular experience, but somehow Stiles managed it. Ripping open the car door Stiles poured Derek into the back seat, sprinting around to the driver’s side feeling light as a feather and throwing himself behind the wheel.

“ _Drive,_ ” Derek snarled as Stiles gunned the engine.

“Oh, really? You don’t think I should just have a tea party in here?” He snapped, peeling out of the street into the night. “Where can I take you? Your place is out and Scott says the hunters were watching the warehouse, and my dad is home.”

Derek was silent for a moment. “...I have a place.”

Stiles squinted at him in the rearview mirror. “You ‘have a place’? Like, a house? Why the hell are you living in the woods if you have a house?”

“It’s new,” Derek muttered. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

Stiles frowned. “A secret from your own pack?” Derek was silent. Stiles sighed. “Tell me where.”

Derek directed him to a huge building in the warehouse district. Stiles pulled up and eyed it dubiously. “From a burned out house to an actual shed. What is it with you?”

“It’s been remodelled, there’s a loft— _get_ _down!_ ”

A bullet shattered the driver’s side window just as Stiles threw himself to the floor. The sound of screeching tires reached even his human ears as the hunters skidded to a stop beside them.

“Stiles, run!”

“Stop saying that!” Scrabbling for the tire iron beneath the seat Stiles barely had time to snag the mace hanging from his keyring before the door swung open. Without time to think he leaped at the man standing there, knocking into him and causing his gun to skid under the Jeep. With a shout the guy reared back for a punch, but Stiles got there first. With every once of terror thrumming in his body he brought the iron down on the man’s skull. There was a sickening crunch and Stiles saw the man’s left eye go sideways before he collapsed to the ground, twitching.

“The fuck!” Someone screamed and Stiles spun around, thoroughly macing the two women. The closer hunter got it in her open mouth, stumbling away to retch. Tears were streaming from Hunter #3’s eyes but she jumped him anyway, chopping at his throat with a practised jab. She was too close for a proper swing but somehow Stiles clocked her on the collarbone with the iron. She screeched and dropped her arm, giving Stiles an opening to kick her away, his foot landing heavily in her stomach. The distance gave him a split second to check on the other woman, still clawing at her face several paces away. Hands like steel wrapped around Stiles’ wrists, slamming him up against the back door. Seemingly unhindered by her broken clavicle the woman bashed his hand against the metal door frame, trying to get him to drop the iron. He cried out as she hurt him again and again but held on tight, trying to get his knee up to do some damage. Clearly an experienced fighter she didn’t give him an opening, and in desperation Stiles threw himself into her space and sank his teeth into her ear. Choking on the mouthful of hair he’d gotten as well Stiles clenched his jaw as hard as he could, ripping he head back even as she threw herself away from him. With a twist Stiles felt the resistance break, her ear tearing off in his mouth to the sound of her screams. Spitting it out Stiles forced himself not to gag at the taste of her blood. The woman fell back, collapsing to cradle her head and shriek in agony.

Adrenaline narrowing his focus Stiles stepped forward to make sure she didn’t get up again when he heard Derek’s warning shout. Hands grabbed him from behind but his reflexive kick cracked the last hunter in the kneecap. Digging in his feet Stiles slammed her up against the Jeep but she didn't let go, blindly struggling to get her knife in him. He slammed her again, crushing her between the door and his back, but her blade bit into his shoulder terrifyingly close to his throat and he cried out, throwing a hand behind him to claw at her face. She twisted her head away but somehow Stiles found her eye, jamming his finger in as hard as he could. The hunter reared back with a scream and her grip loosened. Throwing himself against her hold Stiles struggled free, spinning around to grab her head in both his hands and slamming it back against the door. Her screaming cut off as she choked on her tongue and Stiles did it again, watching her eyes roll back in her head and feeling her body go limp. Shoving her away from him Stiles scrambled back into the driver’s seat, tearing out of the street and towards safety.

For several minutes he didn’t speak, his breathing coming under control through his grip on the wheel didn’t loosen.

“How many heartbeats,” he whispered around the taste of blood.

Derek didn’t answer.

*** 

A quick phone call confirmed Melissa was at the hospital, so Stiles drove them to Scott’s house. Everyone was waiting for them on the lawn as he pulled up, Derek’s trio swarming over the car to scent mark him while Scott checked on Stiles.

“Stiles, you’re bleeding!”

“It’s not deep, buddy, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry! What the hell happened to you! Your window’s been smashed and you smell like chemicals—”

“Just—let’s go inside, okay Scott?” Stiles begged, his voice rough.

Between the four werewolves getting Derek inside was no problem, despite his pissy growling. He described the daring rescue with as little detail as possible, and for once Stiles was glad for his reticence. Scott mothered him into taking off his shirt while they listened, icing his bruised wrist and spilling iodine down his chest as he doctored his shoulder. Stiles ignored it, though he took the proffered ibuprofen gratefully. Being stabbed hurt like a bitch. Who knew?

“How long will the paralysis last?”

“Another hour.” Derek looked like it was killing him to admit it, but at least he wasn’t saying ‘never’.

“We’re staying with you,” Erica said quickly.

“No. Go home before your parents find out you’re missing and the cops come out looking for you.”

Erica pouted, rubbing her face against Derek’s chest and grumbling about the smell of pesticide.

“You can’t just camp out here—” Scott began but Stiles just him up with a cruel elbow to the ribs. They proceeded to have a heated silent conversation, but in the end Scott yielded. “...fine,” he sighed. “But I’m not feeding you.”

At least Derek’s eyeballs weren’t paralysed. Rolling them was half his personality.

“Look, if it’s all the same to you, Scotty, I’m going to go home,” Stiles said, feeling his exhaustion in his bones. He must have looked as tired as he felt, because Scott didn’t even argue about being left alone with Derek and Isaac.

Wincing as he pulled his shirt back on Stiles paused on his way out the door. Given how they hadn’t hesitated when they heard Derek was in trouble Stiles thought it was getting pretty stupid the way they constantly pretended to be enemies.

For possibly the first time in their messy history it seemed he and Derek were on the same wavelength; before Stiles could think of something to say the other man was already rumbling a low “Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at him, too weary to muster any true surprise. He nodded. “You’re welcome.” Stiles didn’t bother to dissect why his shoulders felt looser after that.

***

“Scott!” A familiar voice shrieked, dragging Derek out of the darkness. “Scott! No! No no no no you’re already cheating at life with the fucking _enhanced reflexes_ , there will be exactly _no_ button mashing in this tournament, you—”

“FATALITY!” Scott roared and then yelped as something hit him with a meaty smack.

“You dirty cheater. See if I do you homework so you and Ally can make out next time.”

Derek sank his bloody claws into the tree below the window and staggered to his feet. He almost blacked out again as he fought against gravity, dragging himself inch by painful inch to the golden glow of the window. The boys were chattering happily, and the cramp of jealousy in Derek’s stomach was offset by the comfort between his ribs.

It felt almost like pack.

“Oh _shit,_ ” Stiles exclaimed as Derek collapsed through the window to press his face against the cool floorboards.

“ _Derek?_ ” Scott asked.

“What the fuck Scott? Didn’t you hear him out there?!”

“We were playing! I wasn’t concentrating!”

“Whatever.” Stiles’ knees hit the floor next to Derek’s head with a bruising thud. He didn’t seem to notice. “What do you need?” He demanded, muscling Derek onto his back while Scott fluttered uselessly next to them. “Oh fuck are those your _intestines?_ ”

“Stiles, that’s a lot of blood. If he isn’t healing—”

“Yeah, I get it. Bring me some towels, like a lot of towels, and the first aid kit. Shit Derek, what did this to you?”

“Monster,” Derek slurred, distracted by the halo around Stiles. It was possible his vision was growing fuzzy. “‘N th’ woods.”

“Same thing we’ve been dealing with?”

Derek nodded and tried not to pass out.

The soft glowing edges of the world came back into sharp relief when Stiles pressed a towel against his ruined belly. A choked growl burned in his throat.

“Fuck, shit, sorry. You’re literally bleeding so much dude.” Derek was kind of flattered by how worried Stiles sounded. Although that could have been the bloodloss. “I’m going to have to _sew you up_ aren’t I?”

“You know, out of the two of us I’m the one that’s actually sutured a wound before, Stiles.”

“Oh great, are you volunteering? I super don’t want to touch Derek’s _actual guts,_ bro, so if you could take over with your extensive experience suturing empty cat scrotums and fix these two _twenty inch gashes_ in this werewolf’s _stomach_ that would be fucking awesome dude.”

“Okay geez, I was just saying.”

“Just call Deaton, okay? Fucking shit, why the hell aren’t you healing, Derek?”

“Don’t know,” he gritted, forcing himself not to fight the searing pressure of Stiles’ hands.

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Put him on speaker. Deaton? The fuck isn’t Derek healing?”

“I couldn’t begin to imagine. Creatures like these aren’t supposed to exist.”

“Great, that was so incredibly helpful, o wise fucking druid. Tell me how to fix him.”

“Well, there are certain things that can speed a werewolf’s healing, provide a boost of power—”

“And you’ve never _mentioned this bef—_ whatever, no time, tell me.”

“The blood of a spark wouldn’t hurt, but really what you need is rainwater from a wolf’s paw print.”

“...Deaton it hasn’t rained in _weeks._ ”

“I have some, as it happens. At my residence.”

“Okay, shit, that's fantastic, um, Scott take my keys. Where do you live?”

“Mitchell Street, off Brookmoor.”

“Dude, that’s on the other side of town.” Even Scott was sounding worried. If Derek could feel much of anything he imagined he’d be concerned.

“That’s more than a forty five minute round trip,” Stiles gritted. “There’s no way Derek’s going to last that long.” His hands clenched in the towels painfully but Derek didn’t have the voice to complain.

“...there is another way.”

Stiles actually _jerked._ “ _Who writes your script—Out_ with it you walking cliché!”

“Silver.”

“But—isn’t silver a poison?”

“It’s pure. The mythology—”

“Short version, Deaton, or I swear to god I’ll come over there and make you _eat Derek’s corpse._ ”

“It will contact the wolf inside, give him a boost of power. If I’m right it will activate his healing, but the process will be… unpleasant.”

“Not more unpleasant than dying from evisceration,” Stiles said, voice like steel. “Tell me what to do.”

“Well, usually silver powder is eaten or tattooed into the skin—”

“I’m gonna shove my mother’s necklaces inside him where the monster cut a hole.”

“I suppose that could work—”

“Scott, my dad’s room, bottom draw beside the bed. Bring the whole box.”

Derek listened to the beta’s feet pound across to the neighbouring bedroom and back. There was a musical sound as Stiles tipped the small jewellery box over and drew out a dangling earring, two pendants and a bracelet.

“Thank god we weren’t rich enough for white gold. Brace yourself Derek.”

The barest suggestion of a whimper escaped him as Stiles ripped off the towels, and then he was pushing something into him, his hot fingertips slipping over viscera and gore, forcing in a fistful of starfire.

Derek blacked out.

*

When he came to he was in the bed, and the room smelled of blood. He must have made a noise, because Stiles sat up in his desk chair where he’d been slumped. His t-shirt was dark with drying blood and there was a crisp white bandage around his forearm.

“How do you feel?” He croaked.

“Weak,” Derek rumbled. It should have bothered him more how often Stiles got to see him so vulnerable. “How long?”

“About three hours. You started healing pretty soon after we did that to you.”

“Where’s Scott?”

“I sent him home. He was worried about is mom being alone.” Stiles sighed, looking bone weary, and it occurred to Derek that it was about three am. “You up to telling me what you saw?”

Derek didn’t bother to fight about the shared information. “A creature made up of other creatures. Three, four times bigger than a bear, black running out of every mouth.”

“Shit. Shit.” Stiles rubbed his eyes. “You’re lucky you didn’t get infected. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It came up to the house.”

Stiles sucked in a breath. “We have to kill it. This can’t keep happening—if it can override your healing as the _alpha_ —”

“I know.” Derek dragged himself painfully into a sitting position, preparing to leave.

“Whoa, what the fuck, Derek, you’re literally half dead, where are you going?”

“Back.”

“No, dude, just lie down, I can’t even look at you right now.”

“Stiles—”

“Nope, sorry, can’t growl at me and make me do your bidding. I have literally seen _inside_ you, dude, and I am not keen to repeat the experience. Remember what I said, about the werewolves and their Stiles-saving capabilities? I want you healed and maybe even _here_ since apparently there’s a fucking monster in the woods just like my mommy always told me.” Derek blinked at him as the tirade came to an end. “Just… get in the bed, dude. It’s a fucking double, that literally means two, you can fit two people in it, it’ll be fine.”

Slowly, not even truly sure why he was obeying, Derek sat back down. They stared at each other.

“What… What happened to your arm?” Derek asked awkwardly.

“Oh.” Stiles glanced down at his wrist in surprise. “Deaton said the blood of a spark might help.” He shrugged, as if literally bleeding for Derek were no big deal. “Don’t worry, I don’t have any bloodborne illnesses or anything. Not that it would matter, since you were either gonna start superhealing or die of guts-falling-out. Which of course is the unfortunate condition where your—”

“—guts fall out, yeah, I figured that out, thanks.”

Stiles smirked, but the effect was somewhat mitigated by the bags under his eyes. “Come on,” he groaned, standing on cracking knees and switching off the light. “Move over.” He peeled his unfortunately crunchy shirt over his head and sunk a knee into the mattress by Derek’s hip. “The sheets are a lost cause anyway.”

With a put-upon sigh that was entirely fake Derek slid himself to the far side of the bed, against the wall. Stiles rolled under the covers in a practiced motion, turning away from Derek but not flinching when their calves tangled in the small space.

Derek blamed the exhaustion for how quickly he fell asleep.

*******

Stiles didn’t know whether Deaton actually cared about balance or if his furious guilt trip over the phone last night had moved him, but either way he’d deigned to attend a pack meeting for once.

“How do we kill it,” Derek growled as soon as he arrived, forgetting his question marks as usual.

“Hi Derek, you’re welcome for the save, glad to see you’re looking better,” Stiles mocked under his breath, well aware the werewolves could hear him. Derek shot him a look but there was no heat in it.

“I don’t know. This creature—it’s a perversion of magic, the antithesis to everything you have faced before; on that basis I’d imagine it would be weak to silver, a virgin’s menarche blood, perhaps even running water. But it’s very nature as _opposite_ might also render it immune to such magical weapons. I think it stopped Derek’s healing by blocking the flow of his magical energy, so it’s possible it could block the magic of almost anything. In which case I would advise using a more… _mundane_ form of damage on the beast.”

“We can’t risk attacking it if we don’t even know if it’ll _hurt,_ ” Scott exclaimed.

“I’m not fighting that thing unless I’m holding a fucking nuke,” Erica swore.

“There is another option, one that combines both mystical purification and physical harm,” Deaton said, far too calmly considering how close Stiles was to strangling him.

The pack turned expectantly towards the vet, but Stiles already knew the answer. “Fire,” he grated. The word landed heavily in the ruined house. Derek didn’t twitch, but there was a careful hardness around his mouth Stiles knew to be fake. He tried not to think about when he’d come to recognise the man’s expressions so well.

“Derek said this thing is huge. We can’t just set it alight, it’ll burn the whole Preserve down.”

“I don’t see what choice we have, Scotty.”

“You can’t burn the forest down, I live here!” Isaac complained, and Derek’s face grew somehow even more blank.

“Guys, if it’s the only way, we can’t leave that thing alive out there—” Erica began when Stiles was suddenly struck with an idea.

“The caves,” he interrupted, and Derek looked at him. “You know, those cave systems to the south? I bet we could trap it in there, burn it without killing ourselves in a forest fire as well—”

“Are they big enough for that?” Scott asked dubiously.

“Yes,” Derek confirmed. When the pack turned to him in surprise he looked away. “I’ve been there with my family,” he explained roughly.

“Could you find it again?” Stiles asked.

Derek shifted uncomfortably. “It was fifteen years ago.”

“Is that a no? You can’t, like, sniff out the penicillin or something?”

“I _could,_ if hadn’t been established that wandering around the woods for hours was kind of dangerous at the moment.” Derek bared his teeth but Stiles thought it was mostly frustration as himself.

“Chill out,” Stiles admonished, whacking Derek on the arm without thought. “There’s a simple solution for this; we break into the ranger station and steal some maps. It should be easy—I’ve been there a few times before, they have no security.”

Scott frowned, as he always did when their adventures required breaking the law, but Derek’s shoulders relaxed minutely.

“Fine,” he said. “Stiles and I will get the maps tonight. The rest of you go home, figure out an excuse to be away tomorrow night; we don’t know how long this hunt will take.”

*******

“Hello?”

“Hey Juno, it’s Stiles,” Stiles said warmly into his phone as Derek drove.

“Stiles? Well I’ve not heard from you in a dip! How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good. Sorry to call so late. I’m not disturbing you at home, am I?”

“I’m home, but you’re not disturbing me,” the woman on the other end confirmed. Derek and Stiles both relaxed. “How can I help?”

“I had a question about something I saw up in the Preserve…” Stiles chatted with the ranger for a while, preemptively covering their tracks for the fire. Derek felt conflicted as he listened to the younger man lie with ease, skilfully planting the seed in the woman’s mind that there were some rednecks getting up to no good in the forest. They were obviously family friends, probably through his dad. Derek could picture with bizarre ease a young Stiles avidly watching his father and the ranger pouring over maps in the station, playing with the radios and asking about bigfoot. Twitching his shoulders Derek shoved away the unfamiliar curiosity and focused on the road.

Since they’d confirmed Juno was at home Derek drove right up the the little building on the outskirts of the town. His senses verified no one was present as he reached the door. Grabbing the handle he prepared to force it open when Stiles grabbed his arm.

“Hey, hey! What are you doing, Wreck-It Ralph?” He demanded.

“Getting us in.”

“Why is it always violence with you werewolves,” Stiles admonished, hand still curled distractingly around Derek’s bicep. “There’s a better way, my dude.”

“And what’s that?” Derek rumbled, ignoring how Stiles’ antics had somehow crossed from ‘annoying’ into ‘amusing’.

“We unlock the door like civilised human adults,” he said, materialising a keyring from somewhere.

It was completely crammed with keys; the thing must have weighed at least fifteen ounces. Many of them were marked with scraps of thread or swipes of nail polish. Stiles unerringly selected one from the bunch and fitted it smoothly into the lock.

“How do you have that?” Derek asked incredulously.

“Impressioning kits are surprisingly cheap on ebay,” Stiles answered, putting the master keyring back in his pocket and letting them both in.

The station was an organised mess, maps and pamphlets cluttering every surface and an ancient computer in the corner.

“Okay, it’s gotta be here somewhere. Help me look.”

“I don’t know what I’m looking _for_ ,” Derek complained, but started shuffling through the papers anyway. They worked in silence for some time, Derek keeping an ear out in case anyone approached.

“Here, I think this is it,” Stiles said, spreading a large roll of topography across a clear section of the floor. Derek crouched down beside it. Stiles seemed to be gleaning some data from the squiggling lines.

“You can read a map?”

Stiles scrunched his brows. “You can’t?”

Derek ignored him. “Where are the caves?”

“About two miles from the highway, kind of in the middle of nowhere. We’d better hope the thing doesn’t find us while we’re out in the open.”

“We’ll hear it coming.”

“Fat lot of good that did you the other night. Hopefully the whole pack together will be enough to scare it off. I feel like I want a shotgun or something.”

“You’ll be fine,” Derek said, and they both pretended he didn’t mean _I’ll protect you._

*******

They’d made it to the cave without trouble but everyone was tense as they set their trap. The betas kept snapping at each other and Lydia’s knuckles were white around her jars of chemicals. Stiles had to repeatedly remind himself that the wolves were looking out so he could focus on his task, emptying his third jerrycan of gasoline on the cave floor. The fumes were burning his nose but he ignored it, careful to leave a wide border of bare rock around the puddle just in case.

Suddenly every werewolf stiffened and Scott said his name sharply. Throwing the container to the ground Stiles scrambled out of the cave, sucking in a lungful of fresh air as he accepted several Molotovs from Lydia.

“It’s coming,” Boyd said gravely, and Derek appeared from wherever he’d been patrolling.

“Be ready. Remember, we’re trying to herd it into the cave, not cause damage.”

“Yes, we’ve got it, _dad,_ ” Erica said, but her voice was tight.

“Is Allison ready?” Stiles asked Scott, and he nodded proudly. A rumbling roar echoed through the trees and Stiles shivered. Erica roared back and was answered with a crash, already so close.

Out of the gloom between the trees [a hulking mass](https://mx.tumblr.com/wf/click?upn=yBPWQA8kfcq-2FJ4ltAzNDj3qsyVarSSqV5M2Hy-2F5B1gyyk1BcfgP7CgrxnNRqS1uag1cOr8aKAKYBSJIMY6TcXVwXw5b5yVblt5ybESWJrks-3D_mytVj3xe6XScEVeD-2BC04qsgJPDJpVT6L5sJDGCT7JamoWCkvQa7LqulaSvAlA-2Fa8i8wvCJBuEGD2KcOUcO-2B6ZOaivwvurEfMisGohdRCzyV5EVLoUhEMG5QrMMMmWlyVu5pcRbdRml1tVKR5r-2BR2-2Be6Ar6PWhhNjVvk3hADfICaRhvlm3oPaOHjrWKSWfomlF5O7ibyP5BIDMA2L1UenmAduySTf-2F8OxvI9oxKkw-2F2mPpEB2wj8yZE-2FHmIeqb3wjPokh-2BgX8D3JBTBJN3YD-2BiMLTIJZZ-2Fwnj52B7fKCbKzM-3D) appeared. Standing twice as tall as an elephant the beast was a twisted mass of goo and legs, teeth gnashing in every head, antlers tossing and claws rending the air.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles breathed clutching his cocktails to his chest as the wolves dashed in, weaving around the beast’s paws and hooves, trying to force it towards the cave. Erica screamed as she was thrown into a tree and Boyd rushed to cover her with a roar that rattled Stiles’ bones. Arrows sprouted from the beast’s hide whenever it moved towards the forest, one puncturing a dog’s rolling, milky eye. “Derek!” Stiles shouted as the man ducked in low, digging his claws into one of the creature’s throats. Somehow he tore the head of a mountain lion clean off and the monster screamed with a hundred voices. It thundered a few steps towards the cave, the wolves closing in around it, darting in to score its hide like a pack of mobbing crows. It stumbled back another step, passing through the mouth of the rockface, and Lydia launched her first firebomb.

The glass shattered against the shoulder of a bear, flame bursting free to lick at fur and skin. It danced along the back of the creature as it reared up, never reaching the ground and its pool of accelerant. With a horrible howl it blundered forward into the open air, snapping its jaws at anything within reach.

“No!” Someone yelled, and without a thought Stiles ran forward.

“Hey!” He shouted, and when one head rolled towards him he chucked his first jar with all his strength right in its feline face. With a thunderous screech it swung to face him and Stiles turned and sprinted into the cave.

“Stiles no!”

“ _Stop!”_

The gasoline soaked into his socks as he splashed through the puddle, fetching up against the back wall and spinning to face the lumbering beast. It staggered into the cave after him, its many heads searching blindly, so before it had a chance to catch his scent Stiles threw his second firebomb at its feet.

It exploded, blue flame roaring to life across the cave floor, the monster lighting up like a torch. Stiles covered his eyes at the sudden rush of light, the heat stinging his arms and face as he wedged himself into a crevice in the rock. Over the sounds of the creature’s deafening howls he could hear the screams of his friends, but the thrashing body of the monster blocked his exit. Black smoke began filling the space with the smell of charred meat and Stiles coughed, heart hammering painfully against his ribs.

“I c-can’t get o-out,” he choked, shielding his eyes from the inferno as he searched for a way past through his tears. Turning his face away as the heat became unbearable Stiles prayed the fire would burn itself out before it cooked him.

Suddenly strong arms came around him, hauling Stiles against a broad chest. The was a flurry of confused movement and a moment of bright pain and then the cool forest air hit his face.

Derek let him down but Stiles found couldn’t stand, stumbling back against his saviour. Derek’s sooty arm steadied him around his waist, claws digging into his skin.

“D-dumbass,” Stiles wheezed. “What the fuck was that for.”

Derek didn’t reply, and when Stiles wiped his streaming eyes and finally looked at him his expression was wild. “How could you be so stupid!” he shouted, and Scott tried to pull Stiles out of his arms with an indignant cry.

But Stiles heard him. “Sorry,” he croaked, pushing Scott back gently and resting his hand on Derek’s shoulder where his shirt had burned away. “I’m sorry.”

“What were you thinking! We could have done something—”

“I know, Derek, I know, I’m sorry.” Stiles took a chance and wrapped his arms around the older man for a moment. Derek trembled. “You were stupid too. I can’t believe you went in there.”

“I’m not going to let—” Stiles tightened his arms in shock as his brain filled in _I’m not going to let anyone else burn._ One of Derek’s hands fisted in the back of Stiles’ shirt.

“Yeah Derek,” Stiles rasped. “No one else.”

***

The sound of a familiar Jeep was clear even through the walls of Derek’s house. It had been several days since the pack had defeated the beast, and Derek hadn’t seen Stiles in that time. He knew from Erica that he hadn’t needed the hospital, which in their lives was a pretty good outcome.

He wondered why Stiles was here. It could be anything from chewing Derek out for saving his life to telling him the apocalypse was near. Derek knew better than to expect an apology for his recklessness. He walked out onto the porch.

“My, grandma, what big muscles you have,” Stiles teased as he jumped out of the car. Derek glanced down at his bare chest and rolled his eyes.

“What do you want, Stiles?” He growled, Stiles’ answering smile suggesting he could hear the fondness in it.

“Came to deliver this basket of goodies,” he said, making his way up the steps to stand by Derek.

Derek gave him a pointed once over to highlight his lack of baskets and suppressed a start at the flare of interest he detected in Stiles’ scent. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life and all the other day,” he said a little more quietly, and Derek tried to hide his surprise.

“...you’re welcome,” he said gruffly, off-balance.

“It was a big deal,” the boy continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Like, a huge deal, hello elephant, get back in your room.” Derek huffed a laugh and Stiles’ eyes crinkled. “Seriously. Thanks.”

Derek shrugged. “I owed you.”

“Yeah… about that. How about we stop counting?” Derek frowned, confused. “Like… I mean, I don’t know if Scott will ever decide to be in your pack, he’s kind of a stubborn prick when he wants to be, but even if he doesn’t I think we could—we’re all in this together you know? And I like Erica and Boyd, and Isaac is a shit but I don’t want him to die.”

Derek sorted through what Stiles was saying. “You want… an alliance?”

“Um…” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “I was thinking more like… friendship.”

A low curl of warmth ignited in Derek’s stomach, something shockingly soft, something he hadn’t felt even after cementing the pack bond with his betas.

“I don’t think grandma would approve of you making friends with wolves in the forest,” he rumbled, and Stiles’ face broke out into a grin.

“Good thing she’s not here!” He said, and Derek couldn't quite believe the smell of happiness suddenly rolling off him. Stiles punched him solidly in the arm and Derek let it land.

“Okay well, I have to get to school now but I’m sure I’ll see you around seeing as you’re constantly lurking in the shadows around Beacon Hills.” Derek rolled his eyes and waved him off, a tiny, barely visible smile curling the edge of his mouth as he watched the boy walk away.

“Oh, by the way,” Stiles said in sudden realisation, turning back towards him halfway to the Jeep. “What do you know about water monsters trying to eat local high school swimming champions?”

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit I actually finished something. What the fuck. It's like I don't even know myself.  
> Thank you to [Galactic Jonah](https://mobile.twitter.com/GalacticJonah) for the amazing, gorgeous, wonderful artwork.
> 
> Bros, please leave a comment if you liked it. I am Stressed and Lonely and i crave your sweet words.


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